A/N: I honestly intended to have this done a month ago. And then the papers and projects kept taunting me and the professors hounding me. Therefore, I am very late and I humbly apologize. Thank you, patient readers! Enjoy!

"What are you watching?" Sam asked as he returned from the bathroom, straightening his tie.

I glanced up from Catch-22 to see what he was talking about.

Dean blinked, tearing his gaze from the TV for a split second. "Hospital show. Dr. Sexy, MD. I think it's based on a book."

My eyes widened at the intimate acts taking place on our television screen. "Um, hello, little girl here, getting scarred."

Sam scoffed a laugh. "When did you hit menopause?"

Dean shot us both a glare. "It's called channel surfing." He stood, flipping the set off and asking, "You ready?"

Sam grabbed his suit jacket from the bed. "Are you?"

Dean grabbed his keys, not sparing a glance to either of us. Sam and I shared a grin. I smoothed my ponytail and pant suit once more before following him out.

"You really need three Feds on a case like this?" The officer questioned as he led me back into the main office with the full case report.

"We go where the boss sends us."

He shrugged. "Whatever."

We joined the conversation with my brothers just in time to hear the other officer ask, "One more time, the FBI is here why, exactly?"

Dean deadpanned, "Might have something to do with one of your locals getting his head ripped off."

The officer blinked in disbelief. "Bill Randolph died from a bear attack."

"How sure are you that it was a bear?" Sam questioned.

The officer shrugged. "What else would it be?"

"Well, whatever it was," Dean continued, "it chased Mr. Randolph through the woods, smashed through his front door, followed him up the stairs, and killed him in his bedroom. Is that common, a bear doing all that?"

"Depends how pissed off it is, I guess. Look, the Randolph's live way up in high country. You got trout runs to make a grown man weep. And bears."

I had been flipping through the report up until this point, checking facts once more. I waved it at him as I spoke, "Right. Now, what about Mrs. Randolph? The file says she saw the whole thing."

"Yes, she did. My heart goes out to that poor woman."

"She said bear." Dean raised his eyebrows.

The officer winced. "Kathy Randolph went through a hell of a trauma. She's confused."

"What did she say?"

"No, it must have been a bear." Mrs. Randolph insisted. "I mean, what else could it have been?"

Sam leaned forward, "Mrs. Randolph, what do you think it was?"

"No, I, I remember clearly now. It was definitely a bear."

"We're sure it was. But see, it helps us to hear every angle. So just tell us what you thought you saw."

She hesitated for a moment more before answering, "It's impossible, but...I could have sworn I saw...the Incredible Hulk."

Sam blinked slowly. "The Incredible Hulk."

"I told you it was crazy."

"Um…" Sam was at a loss.

But Dean was not. "Bana or Norton?"

"Oh, no, those movies were terrible. The TV Hulk."

"Lou Ferrigno?" I asked.

"Yes."

Dean's voice held a note of appreciation. "Spiky-hair Lou Ferrigno."

"Yes."

"Huh."

My brothers and I shared a look.

"You think I'm crazy."

"No. Uh, no," Dean shook his head, "it's just...is there, uh, would there be any reason that Lou Ferrigno, the Incredible Hulk, would have a grudge against your husband?

She stared. "No."

Dean shared a look with me, and I shrugged. "No."

Sam and I checked out the house where the crime occurred, finding, low and behold, a Hulk-size hole in the front door. I let out a long breath, muttering, "I'm not sure if this is a dream come true or a horror show."

Sam glanced at me, snorting. As we searched the house for EMF and sulfur, I noticed something lying by the porch steps. I crouched and squinted, only for my eyes to widen in the next second. I smiled grimly. "Hey, Sam. I think I found something."

Sam knelt next to me, reaching out to grab a handful of the shiny candy papers. Something niggled in the back of my mind, but I couldn't put my finger on what it was. Sam pocketed the wrappers, his face drawn in concentration.

Dean was still researching when we returned. We explained to him about the hole and I asked, "What did you dig up?"

"Well, it turns out that Bill Randolph had quite the temper. He's got two counts of spousal battery, bar brawls, and court-ordered anger management sessions. You might say you wouldn't like him when he's angry."

"So a hothead getting killed by TV's greatest hothead. Kinda sounds like just desserts, doesn't it?"

Dean snorted, but I drew my brows together as a ringing went off in the back of my head. "Wait."

Sam shared a look with me, comprehension dawning in his eyes. "It's all starting to make sense."

Dean looked between us. "How is it starting to make sense?"

"Well, we found something else at the crime scene." Sam pulled out the candy wrappers and let them fall onto the table. "Candy wrappers. Lots of 'em."

"Just desserts, sweet tooth, screwing with people before you kill 'em—we're dealing with the Trickster, aren't we?"

I shuddered inwardly. "Sure looks like it."

"Good. I've wanted to gank that mother since Mystery Spot."

Sam frowned. "You sure?"

"Yeah I'm sure."

"No, I mean are you sure you wanna kill him?"

Both of us stared at our demented middle sibling. "Son of a bitch didn't think twice about icing me a thousand times."

"No, I know, I mean, I'm just saying—"

"What are you saying?"

I asked, "If you don't want to kill him, then what?"

"Talk to him?"

Dean and I exclaimed, "What?"

"Think about it, guys. He's one of the most powerful creatures we've ever met. Maybe we can use him."

"For what?"

"Okay, Trickster's like a Hugh Hefner type, right? Wine, women, song—maybe he doesn't want the party to end. Maybe he hates this angels and demons stuff as much as we do. Maybe he'll help us."

"You're serious."

"Yeah."

"Ally with the Trickster."

"Yeah."

"A bloody, violent monster, and you wanna be Facebook friends with him? Nice, Sammy."

I piped up, "Maybe, he's right, Dean."

Dean stared at me now, too.

Sam continued, "The world is gonna end, Dean. We don't have the luxury of a moral stand. Look, I'm just saying it's worth a shot. That's all. If it doesn't work, we'll kill him."

Dean sighed. "How are we gonna find the guy, anyway?"

"Well, he never takes just one victim, right? He'll show."

It wasn't very long afterwards when Dean and I were working on wooden stakes and Sam was fiddling with the police scanner that a call came through about a stranger murder. My brothers and I looked at each other.

"That sounds weird."

Sam looked at Dean. "Weird enough to be our guy."

I shrugged, snatching up my stake. "Let's see."

"There was a murder here, and there's no police cars. There's nobody. How's that look to you?" Dean asked us as we climbed out of the Impala.

I shook my head at the sight as Sam answered, "Crappy."

Dean handed each of us a stake and a flashlight from the trunk before we entered the building, a two story, shabby warehouse that I only suspected was worse on the inside, which was…a hospital?

We were in a hospital.

I looked wildly to my brothers noting that the three of us all wore white lab coats over scrubs.

"What the hell?" Dean demanded. I really had no answer.
Two female doctors passed us, throwing a dark look in my direction before smiling sweetly at my brothers with a, "Doctor."

"Doctor."

They moved away.

"Doctor?" I asked.

Dean spun around and threw open the door we'd just come through. It was a broom closet. And there was a couple making out inside. Dean slammed it shut once more.

A sandy haired doctor who had previously been leaning against the receptionist desk, approached us. "Doctor. Doctor." She addressed me and Dean in turn." She slapped Sam.

Sam's head turned sideways with the force of it. "Ow!"

"Seriously." The woman demanded.

"What?" Sam spat, rubbing his jaw.

"Seriously? You're brilliant, you know that? And a coward. You're a brilliant coward."

"Um. What are you talking about?"

She slapped Sam once more with a haughty, "As if you don't know!"

She spun on her heel and stalked off, swinging her hips in an indignant measure.

Dean gawked at her. "I don't believe this."

"What?" Sam and I demanded.

"That's Dr. Piccolo." Dean said, as if it should have been obvious.

"Who?"

Dr. Ellen Piccolo. The sexy yet earnest doctor at—" He spun around to point to the sign behind the receptionist's desk, "Seattle Mercy Hospital."

"Dean." My eyes were wide with realization.

Sam shook his head wildly. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"The doctor getups. The, the sexy interns. The 'seriously's. It all makes sense."

"What makes sense? What's going on?"

Dean grinned faintly. "We're in Dr. Sexy, MD." He spun, shaking his head, and started down the hall, Sam and I matching his stride.

"Dude, what the hell?"

"I don't know." I shook my head.

"No, seriously, what the hell."

Sam answered, "I don't know."

"One theory. Any theory."

"Uh, the Trickster trapped us in TV Land."

"That's your theory. That's stupid."

"You're the one who said we're on Dr. Sexy, MD."

"Yeah, but TV land isn't TV Land. I mean, there's actors and, and lights and crew members, you know. This looks real."

"It can't be. Dean, how can this possibly be real?"

Dean threw his hands up. "I don't know. Alright?"

I knuckled my forehead, warding off the start of a headache. "What if it's like a djinn? Except, he's showing us, you know, our favorite TV shows."

"Man, I swear if we suddenly end up in Scooby Doo, I'm going to kill you." He glared me and then blinked. "And I don't like this show!" He protested.

One of the female doctors from earlier passed us with another dark look in my direction and a smile towards my brothers. "Doctors."

Dean shook his head. "There goes Dr. Wang. The sexy but arrogant heart surgeon." She passed a man sitting gloomily on a gurney. "And there's Johnny Drake. Oh, he's not even alive, he's a ghost in the mind of—" Another doctor appeared beside him. "Of her. The sexy yet neurotic doctor over there."

Sam pursed his lips. "So...this show has ghosts? Why?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't know. It is compelling."

"I thought you said you weren't a fan."

"I'm not. I'm not." Dean objected once more. He turned to stare down another hall. "Oh boy."

"What?" I tried to see what Dean was gaping at this time.

"It's him."

"Who?"

"It's him. It's Dr. Sexy."

'Dr. Sexy' also known as Dr. Palmer, was making his swaggering way down the hall towards us. He smiled charmingly. "Doctor."

"Doctor." Dean returned, hiding his grin.

Cookies for me. I taught my brother how to be a fanboy.

"Doctor."

Dean whacked Sam, prompting him into answering. "Doctor."

Dr. Palmer winked at me. "Doctor."

I deadpanned. "Doctor." I grimaced internally.

He turned to face my oldest brother again. "You want to give me one good reason why you defied my direct order to do the experimental face transplant on Mrs. Biehl?"

Dean shared a puzzled glance with Sam and me. "One reason?" The doctor nodded. "Sure." He looked down, thinking. Then, suddenly and violently, he shoved Dr. Palmer against the wall, one arm against his throat. "You not Dr. Sexy."

"You're crazy."

"Really? Because I swore part of what makes Dr. Sexy sexy is the fact that he wears cowboy boots. Not tennis shoes."

Sam snorted. "Yeah. You're not a fan."

Dean jerked his head. "It's a guilty pleasure."

"Call security." Dr. Palmer called to the nurses down the hall.

"Yeah, go ahead, pal. See, we know who you are."

A security guard and one of the nurses rushed down the hall towards us. "Uh, Dean."

Everything froze.

Dr. Palmer, or whoever he was, smirked, morphing into a familiar figure. The Trickster.

"You guys are getting better!" He exclaimed, grinning.

"Get us the hell out of here." Dean growled.

Trickster raised an eyebrow. "Or what?" He grabbed my brother's arm and twisted it away. Dean's face contorted in pain. "Don't say you have wooden stakes, big guy." As he let him go, Dean stumbled away to stand beside Sam and myself once more.

Both of Trickster's eyebrows rose this time.

Sam glared darkly. "That was you on the police scanner, right? This is a trick."

Trickster gave Sam the perfect 'I'm talking to idiots' look. "Hello? Trickster. Come on! I heard you three yahoos were in town. How could I resist?"

"Where the hell are we?" I demanded.

"Like it? It's all homemade. My own sets―" He rapped his knuckles on a nearby door and then indicated the frozen people around us. "My own actors…call it my own little idiot box."

I glared. "How do we get out?"

Trickster smirked at me. "That, my friend, is the sixty-four dollar question."

Sam sighed. "Whatever. We just, we need to talk to you. We need your help."

"Hm, let me guess. You two muttonheads broke the world, and you want me to sweep up your mess." He looked at me, an eyebrow quirked. "And I take it they dragged you into this?"

I had to return a half smirk. "Something like that. Now answer the question."

"Please." Sam added. "Just five minutes. Hear us out."

"Sure. Tell you what. Survive the next twenty-four hours, we'll talk."

Dean frowned. "Survive what?"

Trickster smiled widely. "The game!"

"What game?"

"You're in it."

"How do we play?"

"You're playing it."

"What are the rules?"

Trickster lowered his chin, smirked, waggled his eyebrows, and disappeared.

Everything restarted.

"Oh son of a bitch."

The blonde doctor from earlier continued down the hall, calling, "Dr. Sexy? Dr. Sexy?"

We followed her, all three of us wide eyed and at a loss. A voice sounded over the intercom. "Paging Dr. Sexy. Report to the ER."

"Oh, by the way," Dean griped, "Talking with monsters? Hell of a plan."

"Just, what do we do now?"

I scoffed. "You know what I'm doing? Leaving."

I closed my eyes, grabbing my brothers' arms. It might take a bit of strength but I could probably swing it. I tensed, preparing for a bumpy landing but nothing happened. I opened my eyes. Nothing had changed. I swore. "Son of a bitch."

Dean frowned. "Your mojo's not working."

One of the doctor's from earlier (her name was Piccolo?) suddenly appeared out of nowhere and swung at Sam once more. Sam ducked this time, though.

He exclaimed, "Lady, what the hell?

She sighed orgasmic-ally (serious, who the hell makes expressions like that?) You are a brilliant, brilliant—"

"Yeah. A coward." Sam cut her off. "You already said that. But I got news for you. I am not a doctor."

"Don't say that. You are the finest cerebrovascular neurosurgeon I have ever met, and I have met plenty. So that girl died on your table. It wasn't your fault. It wasn't anybody's fault. Sometimes people just die."

Sam was exasperated. "I have no idea what you're saying to me."

"You're afraid. You're afraid to operate again. And you're afraid to love." She hurried away, sobbing.

Sam turned to us. "Yeah, we're getting out of here."

"Hey. Doctor." A voice called from behind us.

Dean stopped and turned with a half weary sigh. "Yeah."

"My wife needs that face transplant."

My brother shook his head. "Okay. You know what, pal? None of this is real, and your wife doesn't need jack squat. Okay?"

We continued down the hall without a backwards glance.

"Hey, Doctor." I didn't look back…until I heard the familiar snap from a trigger.

Dean paused for a moment, stunned, before falling to his knees. A shriek escaped my throat.

"Real—it's real—" He gasped.

Sam half knelt, grasping at Dean's jacket. "No no no, no no no no no—hey! We need a doctor!"

Somehow we ended up in the operating room. I looked around, more than a little baffled. Sam and myself were outfitted with surgical gloves and hairnets. So were the other assistants scattered about the room. Dean was lying facedown on the operating table, and it suddenly occurred to me that he wasn't under anesthesia.

Sam held a cloth against Dean's wound with a pair of tweezers before handing them to me.

One of the doctor's called out frantically. "BP is eighty over fifty and dropping."

Dr. Wang held a scalpel out to Sam. "Doctor."

My brother stared at her. "What?"

Dean spoke up. "Sam. Do something. Come on."

Sam leaned over him, whispering. "I don't know how to use any of this crap." He exchanged a frantic glance with me.

"Figure it out."

I shrugged wildly. "Do I look like an M.D.?"

"Sam. Come on. I'm waiting."

Sam drew a deep breath. "Okay. Um. I need a penknife, some dental floss, a sewing needle, and a fifth of whiskey."
The doctors stared. I exclaimed, "You heard the Doctor. Stat!"

They all rushed away on their appointed errands.

A seemingly short time later, Sam was done. He snipped off the extra floss.

Dean piped up. "We okay? How's it looking?"

"Yep. You'll be fine."

Suddenly, everything spun. I heard static for a split second before…cheering?"

What the actual hell?

Then I was wearing a white, skintight, shimmering dress that barely covered my ass. A pair of swanky thigh-high boots chafed my legs. Something fluffy brushed my back and I reached around, feeling what could have been a set of feathery wings. I looked up.

My brothers' backs were to me. They were no longer in their doctor uniforms either. Now they wore clothes more to their usual style of plaid and denim. I envied them greatly. Their feet were strapped onto a platform, and a long pole with a ball on the end was attached to the side facing the rather expansive audience. Dean glanced back and then did a double take. "Whoa."

"What?"

He shook his head, and Sam's eyes widened. "I've just, I've just never seen you…"

The death glare I threw him, cut off further comments.

I touched my head, ripping off the halo headband as the doors to my right slid open to emit a middle-aged Asian man in a tux. He smiled and waved at the audience. The girl across from me waved, too. She wore a red two piece top and mini-skirt. A devil horn headband was planted firmly over her pigtails.

The Asian guy suddenly shouted, "Let's play Nutcracker!" He said something else in Japanese and the roaring crowd fell silent. I tried to move from my spot and found my feet wouldn't budge. The host pulled out a card, speaking in Japanese before turning to my brother with a, "Sam Winchester." He spouted off some more Japanese, which would have been fine if Bobby had been with us to translate. He looked at Sam expectantly, gesturing to the timer off to the side. "Countdown."

Sam deadpanned, "What?" He looked at us wildly, but we had nothing. "Uh, what am I supposed to say?"

Dean shrugged. "You think I know?"

"Uh, I, I don't, I don't understand Japanese."

The host repeated the question. In Japanese, of course.

"Is he screwing with me? I, I, I can't speak Japanese."

The buzzer hit zero and the crowd 'aww'd.

The host frowned, saying something else before smiling brightly. "Ruby!" He frowned once more. "I'm sorry, Sam Winchester."

"Sorry? Sir? For what? Dean? MacK?"

The pole with the ball attached on the end flew upward, nailing Sammy in the crotch. I'm not sure with being behind them, but I'm pretty sure Dean turned green.

The host cried with glee, "Nutcracker!"

Dean asked warily, "Sam?

Sam made a noise in the back of his throat. My middle brother was hunched over, clutching his jewels. My side of caring of little sister was warring with my side of evil little sister, and I couldn't decide whether to laugh or find him an ice pack.

The Japanese girl across from me said something to the host and he turned to talk about some sort of product. I heard Dean ask Sam, "You okay?"

Sam stared at him, and I hissed in sympathy. I tugged on my feet and even tried to remove the boots from my feet, but they weren't going anywhere. I growled with frustration. Only then did I realize a light had started flashing above the door.

I huffed. "Oh now what?"

The doors slid open, revealing…, "Cass?"

Sam frowned, and finally straightened. "Is this another trick?"

Our angel frowned. "It's me. Uh, what are you doing here?"

Dean exclaimed, "Us? What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you. You've been missing for days."

"So get us the hell out of here, then!"

"Let's go." He stepped forward to touch me and my brothers and get us outa Dodge, only to vanish in a blast of static.

"Cass?" Dean cried.

The host stepped forward, the cheerful demeanor from earlier having disappeared. "No, no, no, no. Mr. Trickster does not like pretty-boy angels." He pulled out another card, suddenly all business once more. "Dean Winchester." He asked another question in Japanese.

As he called for the countdown once more, I tugged harder at my feet until it was almost painful. I tapped into my dormant angel grace, but it seemed to be ineffective still. I heard my brothers stumbling to find a solution, but it all became background noise as I attempted to contact Cass over angel radio. Risky, yes, but at least Zachariah would be better than this nightmare. However, I got nothing but static. I growled louder, mixing in a few expletives.

I turned back to my stuttering brothers in time to hear Sam say, "In, uh, in Dr. Sexy I played a doctor. I operated."

"So?"

"So I played the role the Trickster wanted me to play."

My eyes lit up, "Maybe we should just go along with it."

"Go along with what?"

"With the game! You know, we're on a game show, right? So just answer the question!

Dean looked between us. "In Japanese?"

"Yeah!"

"I don't know Japanese!"

"Try!" Sam and I screamed.

"Dammit!" Dean hit his button as the buzzer landed on zero. Dean paused and we all looked at him expectantly. He said something slowly. In Japanese.

The host repeated the last part, as though for clarification. Then he shouted. "Dean Winchester, Nutcracker champion!"

Sam gaped. "How did you do that?"

"I have no idea."

I blinked. "So that's it. If we play our roles, we'll survive."

"Yeah, but play our roles for how long?"

Sam frowned. "Good question."

Dean and I forced grins, waving at the crowd.

When I got my hands on that Trickster, he was going to wish he had never been born. We found ourselves in a Herpes commercial where my brothers apparently starred as basketball players and I was a ballerina. Then we were on to a sitcom.

Sam and I found ourselves entering the fake motel room, both of us immediately spouting our lines that came seemingly from nowhere. It was like we just knew what to do and say. And I hated it.

"Hey there, Sam and MacK." Dean called to us. "What's happening?"

I grinned. "Oh, nothing."

Sam put his hands on his hips. "Um. Just the end of the world."

Laughter resounded from overhead.

I noticed the ginormous sandwich on the table.

Sam frowned. "You're gonna need a bigger mouth."

Laughter. Again.

"Hey, uh, have you done your research yet?"

Dean sucked his teeth. "Oh, yeah. All kinds of research. All night."

"Yeah? Hm."

The bathroom door opened, emitting a woman in a bikini. "Oh, Dean...We have some more research to do."

Sam crossed his arms, and I put my hands on my hips on my hips. "Dean..."

Laughter.

Dean looked forward. "Son of a bitch!"

And more laughter.

Sam made his way over to the woman and led her to the door. "Uh, I am really, really, very sorry, but, uh, we've got some work to do."

"But we did do work!" She protested. "In depth."

Dean waved and Sam shut the door. I could barely refrain from rolling my eyes. Shows like these were precisely why I was glad I didn't have time to watch television.

Dean spoke through clenched teeth, forcing a smile. "How long do we have to keep doing this?"

"I don't know." Sam grinned. "Maybe forever?"

I faked a smirk. "We might die in here."

The laugh track sounded, and Dean broke. "How was that funny? Vultures."

The door opened once more and Castiel appeared as the 'audience' clapped.

There were several cuts and scrapes on his face so I asked, "You okay?"

"I don't have much time."

Sam frowned, "What happened?"

"I got out."

"From where?"

"Listen to me. Something is not right. This thing is much more powerful than it should be."

Dean frowned. "What thing—the Trickster?"

"If it is a trickster."

I blinked. "What do you mean?"

Cass flew backwards, slamming against the wall.

Trickster appeared at the door with a cheery, "Hello!" The 'audience' cheered and clapped as he swaggered in. "Thank you. Thank you. Please stop."

Castiel looked up, his mouth now duct-taped. It would have been funny minus the circumstances.

Trickster grinned at him. "Hi, Castiel!" He flicked his fingers and the angel was gone with another short burst of static.

I gaped. "You know him?"

Dean demanded, "Where did you just send him?"

"Relax, he'll live...Maybe."

If I could find that laugh track I was gonna salt and burn it.

"All right, you know what? I am done with the monkey dance, okay? We get it."

Trickster raised an eyebrow at my oldest brother. "Yeah? Get what, hotshot?"

"Playing our roles, right? That's your game?"

"That's half the game."

Sam frowned, his brow puckering. What's the other half?

"Play your roles out there." He gestured to the ceiling, and I raised an eyebrow back.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, you know. Sam starring as Lucifer. Dean starring as Michael. Your celebrity death match. Play your roles."

Sam scowled. "You want us to say yes to those sons of bitches?"

"Hells yeah. Let's light this candle!"

I lifted my chin, defiance flashing in my eyes. "And what about me, huh?"

Trickster smiled sweetly at me. "You get the easy part, darling. You get to sit back and watch the show." He reached out to swipe a hand down my cheek. I slapped it away.

Something in my heart jolted. "Never."

Sam protested, "We do that, the world ends."
Trickster's eyes hardened. "Yeah? And whose fault is that? Who popped Lucifer out of the box? Hm? Look, it's started. You started it. It can't be stopped. So let's get it over with!"

We all glared, Dean asking suddenly, "Heaven or Hell, which side you on?"

He smirked. "I'm not on either side."

"Yeah, right. You're grabbing ankle for Michael or Lucifer. Which one is it?"

Trickster's smile turned sour. "You listen to me, you arrogant dick. I don't work for either of those S.O.B.s. Believe me."

"Oh, you're somebody's bitch."

Trickster's smile disappeared altogether. Faster than Sam or I could move he had Dean pinned against the wall by his collar. "Don't you ever, ever presume to know what I am. Now listen very closely." He glanced back at Sam and me. "Here's what's gonna happen. You're gonna suck it up, accept your responsibilities, and play the roles that destiny has chosen for you."

"And if we don't?"
Trickster grinned. "Then you'll stay here in TV Land. Forever. Three hundred channels and, uh, nothing's on." He snapped his fingers.

A crime show. Seriously? I tore my glasses off.

"Oh, come on." Dean groaned.

"I say we take turns breaking each other's necks."

My brothers stared at me, but they looked like they might have been considering my suggestion. Dean frowned. "But what about the last one?"

I smiled grimly. "Then you can be the gentleman, and die slowly in here."

An officer stepped away from the murder victim and ducked under the crime scene tape. "So, what do you think?"

Dean exploded first. "What do I think? I think go screw yourself, that's what I think."

Sam pulled Dean away. "Uh, could you give us a sec, please? Thanks." After the officer left, Sam said, "You gotta calm down. Both of you."

I unclenched my fists.

"Calm down? I am wearing sunglasses at night." Dean ripped his glasses off, too. "You know who does that? No-talent douchebags. I hate this game. I hate that we're in a procedural cop show and you wanna know why? Because I hate procedural cop shows. There's like three hundred of them on television and they're all the freaking same. It's ooh, plane crashed here—oh shut up."

"Hey."

Sam had removed his glasses, and was watching an officer on the other side of the crime scene. He was sucking a lollipop.

I scoffed and smirked. "Check out sweet-tooth over there."

"Think that's him?"

Sam frowned. "Just, um, follow my lead."

Sam moved forward and under the tape, replacing his sunglasses. Dean and I did the same. The candy officer stared at us. "You, uh, you okay?"

Dean jerked his head, his voice taking on the voice he used to use in high school when he thought he was cool. "Yeah. What do we got?"

The officer knelt next to the body pointing to the various injuries with his sucker. "Well, aside from the ligature marks around his neck, he has what appears to be a roll of quarters jammed down his throat."

We removed our sunglasses again. Dean pulled out a flashlight to examine the body better.

Sam mimicked Dean's voice. "Well I say, jackpot."

The officer grunted. "Also, there is a stab wound to the lower abdomen."

Dean grabbed a stick from nearby and poked around in the entrance wound.

"Well I say, no guts, no glory."

I matched my brothers' voices. "Get that guy a Tums."

"Gutter ball."

The officer laughed. "Good one, guys."

Dean moved silently behind the officer and as he turned, Dean stabbed him through the chest with the bloody stick.

Nobody seemed to notice. Except, of course, the real trickster who burst into laughter and returned to his real form. "You've got the wrong guy, idiots."

I raised an eyebrow. "Did we?"

Sam staked Trickster from behind. He fell over and with a burst of static, we found ourselves back in the old warehouse.

Later, I would wonder what exactly happened between killing the Trickster and what occurred next. But at that moment, all I realized was the fact that I was alone and running down some unfamiliar street, being chased by some creepy shaped beeping things that were screaming, "Exterminate!"

As I turned a corner, I bumped into some guy in a suit and brown coat. He held some wand-looking thing in his hand. "What the hell?"

"Run!" He commanded. I didn't need telling twice.

I turned into an alley, tripping over something. With a burst of static I found myself standing near the Impala, both brothers looking me over with concern. Trickster stood just in front of us.

Dean asked, "You alright, Kenzie?"

I rubbed my eyes. "Yeah. I think so."

Trickster raised a brow. "Happy?"

Dean looked at him. "Tell me one thing. Why didn't the stake kill you?"

"I am the Trickster."

"Or maybe you're not."

Sam flicked his lighter and threw it down, igniting the ring of holy oil. My eyes widened in realization.

"Maybe you've always been an angel."

Trickster's eyes widened and he laughed hysterically. "A what? Somebody slip a mickey in your power shake, kid?"

Dean smirked. I'll tell you what. You just jump out of the holy fire and we'll call it our mistake."

Trickster stopped laughing. The park area we were standing in dissolved back into a warehouse. He clapped slowly, a wry smirk growing. "Well played, boys. Well played. Where'd you get the holy oil?"

"Well, you might say we pulled it out of Sam's ass."

I stared at Dean, and then shook my head, realizing I probably didn't want to know.

"Where'd I screw up?"

"You didn't. Nobody gets the jump on Cass like you did."

"Mostly it was the way you talked about Armageddon."

"Meaning?"

"Well, call it personal experience, but nobody gets that angry unless they're talking about their own family."

Sam added, "So which one are you? Grumpy, Sneezy, or Douchey?"

"Gabriel, okay? They call me Gabriel."

Sam's jaw ticked. "Gabriel? The archangel?"

"Guilty."

"Gabriel." I stepped forward, my jaw dropping and my eyes narrowing. Something like anger and betrayal stirred in the depths of my stomach, and my face flushed with the heat of it. "Now you show? After all this time? After everything I did to try and get you to come?"

Sam grabbed my arm as I stepped closer to the fire.

Trickster smirked wryly. "Afraid so, kid."
"What do you mean?" Dean demanded. "You tried to summon him?"

I ground my teeth. "I thought he might help us."

Dean nodded, turning back to the archangel. "Okay, Gabriel. How does an archangel become a trickster?"

Gabriel smiled. "My own private witness protection. I skipped out of heaven, had a face transplant, carved out my own little corner of the world. Till you three screwed it all up."

I demanded. "And what did Daddy say when you ran off and joined the pagans?"

"Daddy doesn't say anything about anything."

"Then what happened? Why'd you ditch?"

"Do you blame him? I mean, his brothers are heavyweight douchenozzles."

"Shut your cakehole." Gabriel barked lowly. "You don't know anything about my family. I love my father, my brothers. Love them. But watching them turn on each other? Tear at each other's throats? I couldn't bear it! Okay? So I left. And now it's happening all over again."

I swallowed hard. "Then help us stop it."

"It can't be stopped."

"You wanna see the end of the world?"

"I want it to be over! I have to sit back and watch my own brothers kill each other thanks to you three! Heaven, hell, I don't care who wins, I just want it to be over."

"It doesn't have to be like that. There has to be some way to, to pull the plug."

Gabriel laughed humorously. "You do not know my family. What you guys call the apocalypse, I used to call Sunday dinner. That's why there's no stopping this, because this isn't about a war. It's about two brothers that loved each other and betrayed each other. You'd think you'd be able to relate."

Sam frowned. "What are you talking about?"

Gabriel stared at them. I did, too. The archangel whistled lowly. "You sorry sons of bitches. Why do you think you two are the vessels? Think about it. Michael, the big brother, loyal to an absent father, and Lucifer, the little brother, rebellious of Daddy's plan. You were born to this, boys. It's your destiny! It was always you! As it is in heaven, so it must be on earth. One brother has to kill the other."

"What the hell are you saying?"

"Why do you think I've always taken such an interest in you? Because from the moment Dad flipped on the lights around here, we knew it was all gonna end with you. Always."

The only sound was the crackling of the flames. I was starting to see Gabriel's side. Hell, I knew his side. Watching your brothers fight and always playing mediator until you finally gave up. Yeah. I'd been there. Finally, I said tightly, "No. That's not gonna happen. I'm not gonna let it."

Gabriel's expression was almost sympathetic. "I'm sorry. But it is." He sighed. "Guys. I wish this were a TV show. Easy answers, endings wrapped up in a bow...but this is real, and it's gonna end bloody for all of us. That's just how it's gotta be."

It was silent again for a long time. Gabriel was the one to break the quiet this time. "So. Boys. MacK. Now what? We stare at each other for the rest of eternity?"

Dean shifted, all of us coming out of our stupor. "Well, first of all, you're gonna bring Cass back from wherever you stashed him."

"Oh am I?"

"Yeah. Or we're going to dunk you in some holy oil and deep-fry ourselves an archangel."

Gabriel glared, but he snapped his fingers. There was a burst of static behind us.

"Cass, you okay?"

I looked our angel over, taking in every scratch and bruise and making a vow that Trickster needed to pay for each.

Castiel huffed. "I'm fine. Hello, Gabriel."

"Hey, bro. How's the search for Daddy going? Let me guess. Awful."

Cass glared darkly.

Dean turned to us. "Okay, we're out of here. Come on, Sam. Come on, MacK."

We turned to follow our brother as Gabriel called, "Uh. Okay. Guys? So, so what? Huh? You're just gonna, you're gonna leave me here forever?"

Dean stopped at the door and we turned back to glower at the archangel. "No. We're not, 'cause we don't screw with people the way you do. And for the record? This isn't about some prize fight between your brothers or some destiny that can't be stopped. This is about you being too afraid to stand up to your family."

As Dean finished speaking, I pulled the fire alarm, watching as the sprinklers cut on. I called, "Don't say I never did anything for you."

We dragged ourselves outside and to the car. Sam asked, "All that stuff he was spouting in there, you think it was the truth?"

"I think he believes it."

"So what do we do?"

"I don't know."

I sighed. "Well I'll tell you one thing. Right about now I wish I was back in a TV show."

My brothers nodded. "Yeah, me too."